Finger On The Trigger
by Misakami
Summary: Matt and Mello lead depressing lifestyles. Tension, frustration, danger and lust make a risky combination, that could end in tragedy. Warning: M/M Yaoi Lemon Violence


**Disclaimer: Well folks, Death Note isn't mine. Boo hoo.**

**I wrote this all up in about thirty minutes, not sure how I like it or if I made any mistakes. I'm in withdrawal, but I've got this urge to do something with myself. This is the result.**

"Mello, I'm so serious, if you don't get the fuck off me I'll punch you."

The words were little more than a rumble, threatening and sincere, hanging taut in a tangible, dark atmosphere. Two men in a dimly lit living room, one on top of the other upon a sagging, moth-eaten couch, their eyes were steely and cold, hard around the edges with brows drawn down low and furrowed. A lamp, stationed on a bureau somewhere to the end of the sofa at their feet, cast a dim yellow tint to everything in the room, though it wasn't the only source of light. Computer equipment flashed green signals and outlined buttons. There were monitors left blank, or filled with scrolling, small print text. Cords of varying length littered the dirty brown carpet, that was so faded and pronounced in areas it may once have been white. Apart from the aforementioned furniture, nothing else was visible in the room. If there was anything more to it, the dying essence of a single light bulb wasn't able to strain far enough and illuminate.

A rustle, a choked grunt, the man on top had shifted his position and tightened his legs around the other's waist. Tangled clumps of hair stood out at all ends, golden and sweat dampened and clinging to his forehead in areas. Mello looked fried and wild, and with good reason; it had been days, perhaps even weeks, since he'd left the house. The cramped, confined space he was made to share with the man beneath him had lost any sense of home to it. If he had to describe it, trap, jail, hell, all would have been better terms for the place he currently lived. It was agony for him. Matt wasn't making the circumstances any easier.

Pale, restless fingers twitched and trembled on Mello's gun, which was held fast to the adam's apple of Matt's throat. When he swallowed the barrel dug in deeper, and a delicate fingertip passed over the trigger. Matt's eyes displayed no fear, no alarm or repentance; they glittered defiantly below the red frames he wore, as though silently daring his adversary to shoot. He was provoking him with his silence now, with the way he did not panic, and Mello recognized that and snorted disdainfully. He dug in deeper to the pale throat of his friend.

"Keep your goddamn mouth shut and we won't have this problem anymore." An intense pressure against his neck, and Matt was able to sit up, the weight gone from off his body, and a violent scarlet circle where the gun had aimed. Matt didn't even rub at it, instead sneering at Mello's retreating figure and leaning forward.

"Eat shit." He whispered to himself ruefully, putting a hand to his forehead and drawing back his hair. Too long; it was getting into his eyes and making it even harder to see, which was unnecessary. His vision was poor to begin with. That explained the goggles he wore, or at least, half of the reason. The specs had features to them, small activation buttons near his temples that could display valuable information and aid him in certain ways. Night vision, time and date, GPS, a few other features similar to those. All useful, all worth the money he'd spent on them.

His money. Not Mello's.

The two men had been at Wammy's House together as boy's, but they had not been fond of each other. Even then, Mello had been an egotistical little prick with a big head to match his confidence and guile. Emotional, eccentric, violent, he'd been the same person for years, and age had done nothing to improve him. Matt had been glad to see the last of him the day he'd left for good to pursue Kira. And when his own time to leave the orphanage had come, where had he gone? Right back to the blonde.

It was like childhood all over again; squabbles, bickering, arguments and boasting. Except now they had deadly weapons and things at risk bigger than simple toys and praise. Jealousy was no longer an issue; it was survival and determination that drove the two together. That and the ambitious nature they both possessed. In order to be successful, they were needed to combine, for neither was nearly as powerful on his own.

Which was why when Mello had contacted him and offered to pay him for his skills, Matt had not refused. Where was he to go? He'd been trained specifically, and had not a clue what to do with his talent. He itched to find work, to make himself useful, and what better way to do so than to help catch a criminal?

He'd gotten in way over his head, but hell, the money was worth it. And he didn't know what Mello would do without him should he leave. Though he put up a bad ass exterior, hardened and cold, he was dependent and fragile on the inside. Childish, immature, irrational. He needed Matt to keep him in line, even if his scoldings and chiding was not well received.

Matt had trouble knowing when he'd gone too far with his friend, though. Simple things he said could trigger shocking outbursts and uncalled for reactions from the blonde, that were inexplicable and not justified when asked about. Matt knew better than to even consider questioning Mello on the moment they'd just shared, knowing it would only rip up the (as close to) peaceful foundation they had established now.

In an instant Matt was on his stomach, face pressed against the limp, shapeless lump that had once been a throw pillow. It was uncomfortable but familiar, and he shifted to press his cheek against the fraying material, brooding. His eyes were on the shadows which lead to a hallway, where Mello had disappeared to a few moments before. He was listening for any sound, the smallest noise that would alert him to the activities of his partner, but none reached his ears.

Instead of fretting over this Matt simply ignored it, untucking an arm from its curled position beneath his body and swinging it to hit the floor with a thump. Shimmying his fingers across the carpet, his hand knocked against something familiar, which he grasped and lifted up for inspection. His game boy, a meager pass time but entertaining none the less. The cool plastic was not felt, as he flicked the on switch with a gloved thumb a bit more roughly then necessary. Blaring, basic sound erupted from the tiny speakers, and automatically the volume was scrolled down and erased, so silence filled the home once more. His eyes were fixed to the screen, lenses of his goggles reflecting on what he saw in incomprehensible, mirrored detail. Matt's thumbs worked diligently, his hands on autopilot as he calculated and worked the game as he had trained himself to know. He could defeat this game in his sleep, it was so routine and patterned.

Matt was as close to content as was possible.

Roughly thirty minutes later Matt's attention waned from the system in his hands. He had been absorbed so deeply, completely consumed, that he hadn't noticed a shift in the sound around him. The absence of it now was sudden and made him pause, screwing up his face as he tried to decipher what had changed. Nothing could be heard, but he didn't resume his game, tossing the device down to the floor and straightening into a sitting position on the couch. He held his breath and debated whether to call out to Mello, but the action wasn't needed; soft footsteps pranced down the hallway and stopped once reaching the living room.

Mello stood nude and barefoot, a towel wrapped carelessly around his waist and held to his hip by a clenched fist. His hair was ratty and sopping, but it was clean, as was the rest of him. Matt took a few seconds to realize it had been a shower, and when it dawned on him he stood and stretched, rumpling his own dirty locks and feeling them oily and unappealing on his skull.

_'You'd think here all alone we'd shower more often.' _Matt remarked to himself, the corners of his lips twitching into a smirk. He peeled off his vest and tossed it over the back of the sofa, walking past Mello and down the blackened hallway.

"Hope you saved me enough water. That was a hell of a long time." Matt muttered, watching as Mello's previously lax shoulders stiffened. He could feel the electricity crackle as he bristled with irritation, but Matt wasn't there long enough for Mello to attack him, verbally or physically.

The bathroom was small and deplorable, uncomfortably hot and already full of steam. Matt closed the door reluctantly to the rest of the cold apartment, locking himself into the sauna-like temperature. His own shower was cold, thankfully, and when he emerged he was shivering. A towel stilled his trembles and warmed his skin again, but the goosebumps remained present. Matt swiped a forearm across the cracked mirror above the sink, staring pitifully at his half-steamed reflection for a moment as he wasted time to dry off. His hair was a mop of diluted mahogany, unappealing and untamed. Without a moment's hesitation, he hacked off an inch with shears from the cabinet, leaving it messy, unprofessional, but manageable. There were chunks of wet locks in the sink, which he tried to rinse down to no avail. Eventually he just gave up and sighed, lifting handfuls of his own hair and depositing them into a wastebasket conveniently located beside his foot.

Pleased with his new appearance, Matt fixed himself modestly and tramped out of the bathroom, leaving the light on behind him. He stopped in his and Mello's bedroom, sitting on the edge of his bed and looking at the scattered clothes on the floor hopelessly. It took him a few minutes to work up the motivation to dress, and once he had he was back in the living room, looking at Mello quizzically.

The blonde was on the floor, hunched over one of the computers and eagerly typing. His fingers flew so fast Matt couldn't concentrate on them without feeling a throb in his temple, and with a second of hesitation he leaned down to get a closer look. His eyes took in the screen and widened appropriately.

"What is that, Mello? What are you looking at?" Matt's voice was tight, measured with forced calm. The man before him jumped and quickly made the page disappear with a tap of the trackpad. Matt's jaw set and he crossed his arms. The blonde hadn't even bothered to dress, he was so enthusiastic to get on the damn computer. And now he realized why.

"That fucking thing said Mafia. Why are you getting emails from the Mafia?" Matt raised his voice and Mello stood, his eyes vicious.

"Is it any of your damn business, Matt? What the hell are you going sneaking up behind me like that?" Matt winced at the blonde's tone, but didn't back down as he was obviously expected to.

"My business? I'll tell you what's my business. I'm your partner Mello, if your making big decisions I'd like to know. Especially if you're getting involved in something dangerous." Matt glared hard, and Mello dropped his gaze to the computer, looking strained. His nostrils flared, and his free hand twitched, as though ready to take hold of his gun. Matt knew the drill; he'd wave it around, threaten him and talk big, but do nothing to harm him permanently. And it wasn't because he liked Matt, either. It was because he needed him.

"Look," Mello sighed, and he drooped uncharacteristically. He looked exhausted for the first time in a long while, and Matt flinched in surprise. "It's none of your business what I'm doing. You're here to help me when I need you." Mello pointed the fact out with alarming clarity in his voice, glancing up at Matt from his position on the floor. "Just do your job and nothing else."

There was a brief second where Matt thought he would like to kill his friend. It boiled his blood, clouded his mind, took over his body until he had actually knocked Mello onto his back, the heels of his hands digging into Mello's shoulders and his knee against his hip.

"Listen here, twat. I don't like what you're doing." He hissed, seething and looking at Mello. The blonde looked confused, indignation in his tone as he tried to interrupt.

"Mah-"

"I swear to God, if what you're doing is going to get me killed, you're fucked. Because if I go down, you're going with me." In one swift motion Matt was raising Mello into a standing position by their grasped hands, handing him the towel that had come away a moment ago. Mello parted his lips as though to speak, but Matt made a dismissive sound and turned on his heels to stalk down the hall, disappearing into shadow and leaving Mello discouraged and angry.

Matt could care less.


End file.
